Erotic One shots | 18+

Fate

I sat alone at the cabin bar of my suite, the only company I have is of the sound of the storm raging outside and the bartender. Thunder rolls in the distance, making more noise than the thoughts in my mind as I battle this damned writer's block. I'd have already twirled my pen in between my fingers more times than I can count for tonight.

The whiskey in my cup only made my thoughts fade even more, the sound of the storm outside mimicked laughter, was Mother Nature laughing at me? I can't even start on this book I've been going crazy about and I call myself a writer.

As I sit here, feeling pity for myself a new noise fills the dusty bar. The jingle on the door. I glance, noticing a girl, hiding behind her oversized coat that was lightly coated in snow, her presence as silent yet not silent enough to go unnoticed, just as the storm outside. She doesn't say a word, but her presence speaks for her.

I wonder what demons she's battling to be here at this hour, perhaps looking for a friend or just some peace and quiet? There's a vulnerability about her, maybe we're both not having the best day of our lives.

She orders a gin and tonic and takes her coat off, hanging it off the bar countertop. Cliche choice from what I can tell.

I've had more thoughts about this woman than I have about my book that's supposed to be my main source of income in this good for nothing economy.

As I continue on, wondering what her story is, I'm shocked when she suddenly turns towards me. Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment it felt as though I saw her whole life behind her eyes, and then, she speaks.

"Sorry to pry" she begins softly, warming up to me with a chuckle, "But I notice you haven't touched the paper in front of you, are you a writer?".

Her question catches me off guard, I thought she'd be a silent enigma, a side quest character in my night but she invites me to share a piece of my life with her.

"I am" I answer warmly, "though, it doesn't feel like that at the moment".

I look back down at the empty page she was referring to, ashamed to call myself a writer at this time, but when I look back up at her, for a moment there was a spark of hope, hope that I'd put my pen to use soon.

"I get it, the words like to hide sometimes" she says, "whisky doesn't usually make it better" she eyes my drink.

"Are you a writer?" I asked, her words suggesting I was right.

She nodded and looked away and down at her drink with a slight smile on her face.

"I'm Liam, and you are ?"...

Her eyes lit up and her posture stiffened, her eyes scanned my face, desperately looking for something that seemed so familiar to them.

"Elena".

Elena, a name I had forgotten, a name connected to memories that I thought were buried somewhere far far away. I looked into the woman's eyes and in that moment, it all came rushing back.

Us, hopeless romantics at a young age, conversations of traveling the world and opening bookstores together, disobeying our parents to sneak in a few hours of being in each others company.

Life, as it does sometimes, interrupted our plans. It had pulled us apart, our families were moving, and everyday I wondered when I'd see her again, and now, fifteen years later, here she is.

I reached out to her, unable to resist the hug I'd envisioned for years. "It's been so long..." I whispered.

She smiled, and in that smile she held a glimmer of hope, hope that our connection was too strong to let a few years apart ruin us.